


What Am I Doing Here?

by GeekChick1013



Category: Alles was zählt
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:22:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekChick1013/pseuds/GeekChick1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had to know…</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Am I Doing Here?

He’s nervous as the cab pulls up in front of the tasteful Hamburg brownstone. He can see a light on in one of the upstairs windows, and his heart thuds sickly against his stomach. _What are you doing here?_ Three hours, two trains and a cab later, the question remains.

The driver doesn’t say anything as the nervous man in the backseat stares out the window of the taxi. Finally he seems to notice that the cab isn’t moving and reaches into his back pocket. He pulls out some cash from his wallet, hands it over the seat with a muttered, “Thank you,” and gets out. The driver is relieved as he pulls away from the curb… there was something a little disturbing about his passenger.

On the street, he takes a few hesitant steps forward… then pulls abruptly back into some shadows. A figure has obscured the light shining through the glass panel in the door of the brownstone; a moment later, it opens. A tall shape steps out onto the stoop and pulls the door closed. Marc walks up the twilit street, not looking around, a book tucked under one arm.

Deniz watches Marc briefly before following. He keeps just enough distance to give Marc no reason to look around. They cross a quiet side-street, and half a block up he turns into a coffee shop. Deniz hurries forward then sinks into a lurk, watching through the window as Marc goes to the counter and orders from the barista. For one terrifying moment Deniz thinks he is spotted, as Marc turns around and casually surveys the street. Deniz pulls back from the window and waits, heart pounding, for him to come out, to start asking Deniz what he's doing in Hamburg.

After a few minutes Marc has not emerged from the shop, and Deniz risks another quick glance inside. He's sitting at a table near the back, coffee in front of him, reading his book. If he’s seen Deniz peering in at him through the coffee shop window, he gives no indication.

“Can I help you?”

Deniz jumps. Another barista has come up behind him, this one carrying a serving tray. There are a few dirty glasses on it, collected from the outside tables. She is eyeing him and frowning. Deniz clears his throat. “I. No. I mean. Yes! Can I have a coffee?”

She blinks at him. “Any particular kind?”

“Just… regular. Black.” He recovers enough to turn on his best smile. “Thank you.”

The wariness melts from her eyes. He has that effect. “Sure. Be right back.”

He lets out a breath as she goes back into the café. He looks around for a good vantage point to keep watch from outside. He still doesn't know what he’s doing here… he still has to get his suit for the wedding tomorrow, and if his father discovers he’s gone there will be a barrage of questions he won’t know how to answer, like, really, _what is he doing here?_ Is he going to confront Marc? Start a shouting match, here on the darkening sidewalk? Deliver some as-yet unthought-of insult meant to tear Marc’s soul in two, and then walk away?

He glances back inside just in time to see Marc disappear around a corner. He has left his book and his coffee cup at the table.

Without allowing himself to think about it, Deniz hurries inside.

He rounds the corner and hears Marc’s footsteps echoing up a narrow staircase leading down to the restrooms. Deniz follows. By the time he’s reached the bottom of the stairs, Marc has locked himself in. Deniz shifts from foot to foot, somewhere between flight and hammering on the door. After a moment he hears a flush, then the sound of water running. He stands stock-still, every muscle humming.

***

When he emerges from the restroom, Marc sees the figure at the end of the hallway. His heart lurches and begins to race. He stops moving and stares at Deniz, suddenly trying to catch his breath. _What… how… What?_

“Deniz,” he says, when he’s finally able to talk. He has begun to consider whether he’s in any danger. He glances at the stairs behind Deniz; he’s not getting through unless Deniz allows him. He speaks again, trying to keep his voice light. “What are you doing here?”

There is no answer, and for a wild second Marc wonders if he’s hallucinating, or dreaming, or even being visited by a ghost. It has been months since he’s seen Deniz… he had never expected to do so again. But now here he is, in Hamburg, in Marc’s favorite café, blocking his way out. The initial shock is beginning to wear off now, but his guard is up. Regardless of the how and the why, Marc knows that this cannot end well.

He clears his throat and stands up to his full height. “What do you want, Deniz?”

There is still no response, although Deniz does look Marc up and back down. Marc bemusedly realizes that the assessing look isn’t threatening at all; in fact, it’s a look Marc is familiar with from his increasingly infrequent visits to the local bath houses. Marc finds a flush rising under his skin. He ignores it and takes a careful step towards Deniz.

“I’m not going to do this here. If you want to talk, or fight, or whatever… we’re doing it upstairs.”

“I don’t want to talk.” Deniz’s voice is soft, and there is a nearly imperceptible waver. The more he speaks, the more unsteady his voice becomes. “And I don’t want to fight. What I _want_ is to know what it is about you.”

Deniz begins to walk slowly towards him. Marc watches him come, his body tensing in anticipation of… something. “What about me?” he asks, barely aware that he is speaking.

“What about you made Roman willing to destroy everything between us. What about you is so much better than me.” His face has twisted into a sneer, and a finger pokes painfully into Marc’s chest. With contact comes heat, washing across his skin and drawing a breath from his throat. Even in the dim light of the hallway he can see Deniz’s pale skin flush as well. Deniz cocks his head, face smoothing into a less aggressive but still alarming expression. He leans in close enough for Marc to feel his breath on his neck. “You must be one hell of a fuck,” Deniz whispers. Before Marc even knows he’s moving, he finds himself being backed into the small restroom.

***

Deniz reaches back and locks the door. He never takes his eyes off Marc, watching him, studying him. Not much has changed since they’d last spoken… same carefully styled hair, same perfect stubble, same flat stomach rising from the waistband of his jeans. The only real difference is the look in his eyes. He’s never experienced that before. Except…

A sudden memory rises, of the first time he’d seen Marc. He was nothing but a smile from across the pool, a distraction from the flashing camera. Deniz had been intrigued, the way he sometimes was when he noticed he had the attention of another man. He had wondered, on occasion, what it would be like to be with a man who was not Roman. Not just for a desperate locker room blowjob either, but to properly _be_ with, to kiss, to be inside of or to even have inside of _him_ … someone not-Roman. He’d mused on Marc in such a way when he’d spotted Marc’s appraising grin. The thoughts were pervasive enough to keep dragging Deniz’s gaze away from the camera and back to the stranger. He couldn’t help but notice the way he stood, the tilt of his head, a certain glint in his eye… He’d felt a real pang of regret later, turning down the offer for a drink. If not for Roman…

But that had been before he’d known who Marc really was. Before he’d known why he was really in Essen. Before Roman had given himself to another man in that way when Deniz never had. Before he hurt so much that sometimes he couldn’t breathe for it.

Now here he is, face to face with the cause of it all.

He can feel his cock stiffening in the confines of his pants. He’s getting hard, throbbing at the sight of Marc, at the thought of what Marc could do.

And Marc is hard too. Deniz can see him, swelling into his jeans.

One last brief, panicked thought screams through his head, _WHAT ARE YOU DOING?,_ before he is lost to it.

***

The boy comes at him in a cloud of roiling heat. Marc flinches back, unable to stop himself. He’s scared and bewildered and almost painfully turned on. Deniz pushes him into the wall and follows with his entire body, flattening himself against Marc without a seam. They’re nearly a perfect match in height; eye to eye, nose to nose… mouth to mouth. In spite of how insane it is, Marc wants to feel that mouth on his. To see if the lips are as soft as they look, if there will be a clashing of teeth or a soft slide of tongue. Marc tilts his head and cranes forward, the lightest brush of lips…

But Deniz pulls back, at the same time shifting a leg between Marc’s knees, rubbing up his inner thigh and pressing against his dick hard enough to draw a gasp. He continues like this for a moment, increasing the pressure, decreasing it, slow and inevitable, maddening. Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall, Marc is beginning to understand what it is about the boy that Roman is so stuck on.

_Roman._

The name cuts through the haze of mindless desire. Marc becomes aware of the sounds they are making; heavy, panting, warm breaths filling the small room with tidal insistence, cloth shifting and rubbing. This is all about Roman, of course; Roman, the axis they both revolve around, but who always keeps them apart. But now Roman isn’t here, and the gravitational pull brings them crashing together like planets thrown out of orbit.

Marc gathers his control and pushes Deniz off of him. Deniz staggers back with a grunt, colliding noisily with the door. He doesn’t come back at Marc, but stands there looking dazed. Both of them are breathing hard.

Before Deniz has a chance to gather his wits, Marc takes a hesitant step forward. Mostly he just wants to get out of this room, away from this mad hunger that’s keeping him hard in spite of the negations screaming in his mind. He tries one last time to gather some reason, to inject some sanity into this. “Deniz…”

To his dismay, the boy growls and comes at him again. Marc is ready this time. He steps aside and grabs Deniz, using his own forward momentum to push Deniz into the wall, pinning him, one arm pushed against the back of his neck and the other pulling his arm back behind him, between them. Marc presses himself against Deniz, his intention only to hold him, to stop him. But once he’s there, he feels his precious control wavering. Deniz’s body is unnaturally hot, his muscles moving under his skin as he attempts to break free. The protesting grunts sound sexual to Marc’s ears, and the movement of Deniz’s backside against his oversensitive groin is more than he can take.

He’s angry suddenly, that this boy should come here, to his city, to his café, and disarm him so utterly that he is standing here with an aching hard-on. He spits out words with barely a thought, “You’re right, you know. I am a _damn_ good fuck,” and squeezes his hand between the wall and Deniz’s stomach, down into his pants and around his cock.

Deniz stops struggling for a second, too affected by the touch to do anything but moan. Marc is pulling him inside the confines of his pants, his fingers far more effective than they have any right to be, considering the restriction of space. Deniz rocks back and nearly knocks them both off their feet, but Marc has his free arm wrapped around his chest now, and they move together. Marc never loses his rhythm, and Deniz can only squirm and gasp and utter wordless negations as he pumps.

With a cry, Deniz manages to throw Marc off. He slams his forearms against the wall and then leans his head against it, trying to catch his breath. Marc just watches him, shaking. When Deniz turns around, Marc's eyes are drawn downward. The tip of Deniz's cock is just visible above the disheveled waistband of his pants, and Marc can’t look away. Deniz watches him with dark eyes.

“Show me, then,” Deniz says.

Marc wrenches his eyes up to Deniz’s face. But they don’t stay there long, drawn back down again. Some subtle shift in Deniz’s stance causes his cock to push up briefly, then retreat back down. Marc approaches Deniz and looks him in the eye again. He is tempted to try to kiss him, but knows he won’t be allowed. Maybe that’s alright.

He goes slowly to his knees. He undoes Deniz's pants, and his dick is throbbing in front of him. Marc looks up into Deniz’s face and hates the grim satisfaction he sees there. _Fine,_ he thinks. _He wants to know. I really_ will _show him._

He takes Deniz into his mouth, fully, all the way to the back of his throat.

Deniz hisses in breath, his hands fluttering uncertainly between shoulders and wall and hair. The despair that had brought him to this moment begins to melt away as though Marc is sucking it out of him. Marc pulls back sometimes, letting his hand take over, pumping Deniz and licking up his length in slow, maddening strokes before taking him in again. Deniz can do little more than writhe, his breath a harsh, tearing wave. He can feel the orgasm approaching fast and tries to stop it... coming so quickly seems wrong, like losing. But there's little he can do to control himself, and soon enough Deniz is spilling into Marc's mouth with his hands clenched in Marc's hair.

He is barely aware of Marc getting to his feet, leaning towards the sink and spitting into the basin. His legs are shaking, and he's finding it difficult to stay standing, even with the wall for support. He's caught completely off guard when Marc grabs his shoulder and spins him around like a ragdoll, pushing him against the wall again. He grunts as Marc's hand snakes into the front pocket of Deniz's jeans and pulls out the condom that is there. He does not think about the implications of its presence, any more than he had when he'd furtively slipped the condom into his pocket before leaving for the train station that morning.

Deniz struggles a little as Marc pulls his pants down below the cleft of his buttocks... but not much. As fingernails run a line from his upper legs to his back, he moans a little and can feel his spent cock give a twitch.

He wants to know what Roman felt.

***

It only takes a moment for Marc to pull himself out of his pants and put the condom on. He spits in his hand and rubs it up his cock. He is distantly disgusted by this, by what he's been reduced to; fucking in a coffee shop bathroom with most of his clothes on and his own saliva for lube, like some seventeen-year-old just out of the closet. And with his ex's ex, no less. In all his disgust it's easy to ignore his own part in that fact, the fact that Deniz and Roman are no longer _Deniz and Roman_ but merely Deniz, and Roman. Nonetheless as he pushes himself into Deniz with a sigh, all the way in, until their bodies are molded together, he feels some of the anger ebb away. And when Deniz's head tilts back on his shoulder, Marc finds himself kissing Deniz's neck.

He begins to slowly roll his hips, pulling out and pushing back in, relishing the tight friction. He slides Deniz's pants down, then pulls back a bit to take off his blazer and shove some of his own clothes out of the way. He eases his hands under Deniz's shirt and bunches it up, a bit surprised when Deniz raises his arms obligingly to let him take it off. Their arms fall back down almost simultaneously; one of Marc's hands return to Deniz's bare hip, the other dropping his shirt on the ground and then coming up to wrap around Deniz's chest. Deniz puts his hands against the wall, where he also leans his forehead, and pushes back into Marc's slow thrusts.

Marc speeds his rhythm, leaning into Deniz, moving just his hips. He runs his lips along Deniz's shoulder, his tongue along Deniz's neck, breathes into his ear. When Deniz suddenly twists in his grasp, he thinks the struggle is about to resume... but instead Deniz hooks an arm awkwardly around his neck and pulls him in for a kiss.

Everything stops, frozen, still. Marc pulls back and looks at Deniz, brows furrowed. Deniz stares back, head lowered, lips trembling the tiniest bit. Marc leans in and kisses Deniz slowly, resuming his rhythm as he does, and when Deniz's tongue snakes into his mouth he realizes that he's close, closer than he thought, almost there. Especially with Deniz rolling expertly back into his increasingly frantic thrusts, and grunting and gasping into his mouth. When Deniz emits a low growl, so deep it is nearly subaural, Marc comes undone. He pulls away from Deniz's mouth to let out a cry, then another, and Deniz is nuzzling his neck as he comes.

They disentangle slowly, both of them all rubbery limbs and gasping, panting breath. Clothes are gathered and put back on in a daze, and the condom is tossed indifferently into the toilet. Eyes are averted and throats are cleared to break the awkward silence. When Deniz unlocks the door, Marc unexpectedly finds his voice.

“Did you get what you came for?”

Deniz pauses, his hand on the doorknob. His eyes meet Marc's. He says nothing, but after a moment he drops his hand and steps over to Marc. The kiss is deep and shocking to both of them, ragged with breath and teeth and intertwining tongues. It is over too quickly; then Deniz is gone, out the door and up the stairs and out of the café, running, running.

***

“Shut up and kiss me,” he says. Because hearing Marc's name as Roman tries to bumble through his umpteenth apology, hearing that name makes him feel hot and cold all over, full of guilt and shame and a deep flash of wanting. So he pulls Roman towards him and kisses his familiar mouth and even manages a smile as he pushes Roman into the flimsy coat rack. He knows that he can never tell Roman what happened in Hamburg.

No matter what, it has to stay a secret.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, all my love and thanks to Notoriouslyuniq for her insightful and lightning-fast beta job. *smooches*


End file.
